I’m struggling with guilt this week. It’s a guilt that’s very familiar to me. Its grotesque voice whispers in my ear, “Your standards are too high, your expectations are unreasonable, and you’ll never get into a new relationship with anyone decent while that’s the case.”

But I’d like to go on the record saying that that voice can suck my pink glittery strap-on and fuck right off. Because actually, your standards are allowed to be whatever they are. And one of mine is: Anyone I date needs to be interested in me. No, not just interested – they need to be rabidly curious about me. One might even say “obsessed.” My infatuations are invariably obsessive, and I need someone to match that energy. If they don’t, I can never totally relax around them, because I never fully believe they actually like me.

Now, let’s get one thing straight: I don’t mean that I’m dying to date a creepy stalker who’s woefully, one-sidedly obsessed with me, nor do I have any desire to date people who lack the emotional intelligence to keep their obsessions somewhat in check. You gotta keep a lid on that shit most of the time. Read the room. Feel out the vibe. Build rapport. Figure out whether the attraction is mutual. But if you’re trying to date me, and me specifically… I need a little frisson of obsession in there. A sprinkling of fixation is like finishing salt on a juicy steak: the meal isn’t quite right without it – but with it, the meal, in fact, becomes transcendent.

I’m saying all this because I recently dated someone who was not obsessed with me. That’s okay! No one needs to be obsessed with me… except the people I date. So, you know… it’s good that we’re not dating anymore. It’s not the reason we broke up, per se, but it contributed – because when I’m dating someone who shows very little interest in me, asks me zero-to-few questions, and doesn’t keep up with my creative endeavors, I feel ignored, unwanted, and unsexy. My curiosity about partners is always massive, especially early on when we’re still getting to know each other – so it’s unimaginable to me that, for instance, my new paramour might write a song about me and I wouldn’t listen to it. Are you kidding me?! I’d have listened to it five times within the first hour of its release! And then I’d probably send them a cavalcade of questions about it, in peak smitten-nerd fashion.